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Solemn Memories

In 2017, my husband and I traveled to Normandy, France. I doubled-majored in history in college and appreciate events and people that have impacted our lives. My husband and a childhood friend shared a passion for World War II history, so we planned this trip. Unfortunately, Lee died from cancer months before we were to leave but his wife and daughter were able to accompany us.

There were five beaches – Gold, Juno, Omaha, Sword and Utah – along the Normandy coast. We visited the British Beaches and the Normandy American Cemetery.

The entrance to the cemetery was surreal, elegant yet simple. We passed the “Wall of the Missing” that listed the 1557 missing soldiers, through the immaculate semicircular gardens. Our eyes were drawn to the arched Colonnade where the twenty-two-foot bronze statue of the “Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Waves” is centered. His eyes and outstretched arms reach for the skies.

 The view from the Colonnade was acres of emerald green grass aligned with row after row of white marble headstones. A rectangular reflecting pool, the bright blue ocean and lavender blue skies formed the horizon.

I experienced a loss of words and heavy heart as I stared at the 9385 headstones – four of them for women. Most were identified but some were engraved “Comrade in Arms, known but to God.”

People meandered. Some on a mission, seeking out graves for loved ones. Some were stopped, rubbing hands against their heart, as if they found a loved one. I strolled, read the names, and felt a flutter in my stomach when I found three soldiers from Virginia. I understand twenty soldiers from Bedford County’s 29th Division were killed on that day.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the cypress and holly oak trees. Everyone was quiet or spoke in whispers. Many eyes were moist, all avoided eye contact with others. You could not help but stop infrequently and just stare across the way, experience the moving and intense emotional energy, reflect on the lives of so many that were lost on that historic day.

We visited a bunker hidden along the cliff that overlooked the Omaha beach. Saw the cannon aimed at the distant waters, remnants of equipment, dark and close quarters that wound through the stone compartment. Again, there was quiet, emotional curiosity and awe of the confined quarters.

We visited the beaches. I could not help but recall the documentaries I had seen of the sounds and horrors of the traumatic events of that day. I brought back the solemn quiet of the waves washing along the shore.